Lightning Strikes
by Casenpai
Summary: South Park: a redneck, podunk town plagued by rampant crime committed by petty criminals and supervillains alike. Thankfully, the town can rely on a number of superheroes and vigilantes to protect them in their time of need. What happens, though, when a new player shows on the field… one that only sides with themselves?
1. Chapter 1

**Preface:**

_This is a South Park alternate universe where the South Park boys - aged to teenagers in this story - actually have the superpowers and personas depicted in the Coon and Friends episodes. For example, Toolshed has psychokinetic abilities over power tools and construction equipment, and The Human Kite has the power of flight and the ability to shoot lasers out of his eyes. In this reality, however, the kids don't know anyone else's identities, except in a few cases._

_If you're new to the fandom, I would highly suggest watching "The Coon", "Coon 2: Hindsight", "Mysterion Rises", and "Coon vs. Coon and Friends" to get an idea of each superhero's abilities, though I'll describe things in detail as characters are introduced. As well, I make references to "Pandemic" and "Pandemic 2", so you might want to familiarise yourself with those too._

_Please enjoy, and if you leave feedback, please make it constructive!_

* * *

><p><em>South Park… a typical small town redneck community. By day, the town is tame enough, with the populace busying itself with it's day-to-day lives, with the occasional strangeness spicing things up.<em>

_By night, however… it was like looking in a twisted reflection of small town America; crime was rampant, ranging from petty misdemeanours to grand larceny. Some say that it was the result of the strange happenings in town, others claim the perpetrators hailed from the surrounding towns, hoping that the citizens quiet mountain town were easy pickings. The mayor, a somewhat corrupt and misguided individual, was powerless to manage a significant increase in crime, and the local police department could only be described as woefully incompetent._

_However, what these villains didn't count on was the existence of a group that would protect the small town in which they lived. Formerly members of a group called "Coon and Friends", these remarkable teenagers, each with their own unique abilities, worked in their own ways to stem the inexorable tide of crime. Some valued teamwork, working with one another to bring criminals to justice. Others, still, preferred to work alone, relying solely on their own powers to guide their way._

_Certainly, there were some criminals that were more competent than others; former allies turned deluded by their own schemes, as well as those wronged by the ones they believed were friends, were but a sample of what South Park's heroes had to face on a nightly basis. For the most part, they could be dealt with, though they had to remain ever-vigilant of the schemes they hatched._

_What happens, though, when a new player shows on the field… one that only sides with themselves?_

* * *

><p><strong>South Park<strong>

_Lightning Strikes_

* * *

><p>Craig Tucker, South Park High's quasi-emotionless deadpan snarker who never hesitated to be as blunt as possible when faced with idiocy, was in a foul mood. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been kept up most of the night by noise outside - whether they were gunshots or fireworks, he'd never find out, nor did he care - or even the news blaring out in the living room at 7:30 in the morning, the news anchor singing praises of the latest superhero escapade… nevermind the fact that the side of a building got blown to smithereens in the name of apprehending two or three crooks.<p>

That was the problem with these so-called protectors of this podunk town - they stopped the bad guys, sure, but they ended up causing so much collateral damage in the process, whether it was from their arrests or their occasional infighting. And why were there so many in such a small place?

That question would remain unanswered, no matter how many times Craig vocalised it… not that there was anyone at home with whom he could talk about it. With a groan, he meandered over to the television, shutting it off with a quick flick of his wrist, the screen going dark as the flicker of electrical energy struck the switch; his eyes flashed with the same white-blue energy as the energy discharged, fading to their natural hue after a moment.

His electrical abilities were Craig's best kept secret, even though others had witnessed it; in the midst of an ill-fated plot hatched by his classmates, he travelled to Peru, of all places, where he had been infused with energy from an ancient incan ruin. After using his abilities to save his friends and his town from giant guinea pigs, everyone thought that was the last anyone would see of his powers... instead, he simply kept them to himself.

If anything, they were a good way to charge a dead cell phone.

After glancing at the paper on the table, which also described in great detail the latest vigilante's escapade, Craig spat out an epithet before grabbing his bookbag and heading off to school.

* * *

><p>"What I want to know is this," Craig began as he gathered his books for the next class, his usually impassive expression tinged with annoyance. "How come these guys are getting away with this? They're causing more destruction than the criminals they're trying to catch. I know our police force is fucking useless, but don't you think it's kind of weird that they're turning a blind eye to all this?"<p>

"I don't know," Token replied as he replaced his books. "Maybe they have a secret deal with the police. It's not like we know the identities of any of the superheroes."

"I think that's what the problem is," Craig grumbled. "We don't know who they are, and we let them take over our city. They're just as bad as those supervillains."

"They're not _that_ bad," Token said with a laugh. "They're keeping the city safe, and that's what matters, right? It's not like anyone minds what they do."

"They _should_ mind." Craig's tone was filled with anger, and he slammed his locker loud enough that other students turned to look at what was going on. Without even sparing a glance at the onlookers, he made his way to his English class, leaving Token to stare at him, bewildered.

* * *

><p>The school day crawled by as it typically did, though by the time Craig began making his way home from the park where he had been shooting hoops with Clyde and Token, it was well past 6:30 PM. The sun was well on its way to setting when his phone buzzed, the panicked vibrating telling him who the sender was before he even looked at his screen.<p>

Craig had expected Tweek's text message to be about the usual things - his petition to the mayor to get rid of the Underpants Gnomes, or asking to hang out after his shift. What he didn't expect was what he'd actually received:

» cc o at h e lp m e  
>» my s ter io n a nd t he coo n ae r<br>» fi g thi gn ri g ht sitted t eh s h op  
>» th ey arle ad y s mm as he do n e of th e wni do ws<br>» im so s ca rd pl ss e he pl i d ont w aa ie

The coffee junkie's spastic texting was even more illegible than it usually was, but to him, the message was clear: Tweek was scared, and he needed him. _**Now.**_

Without a second thought, Craig immediately bolted for Tweek Bros, stuffing his cell phone in his pocket as he went; he was nowhere close to the questionable coffee shop, given that he'd been close to home, but that didn't stop him from running as if his life depended on it, dashing into traffic and weaving his way between moving vehicles, ignoring the angry shouts and blaring horns he was getting from the drivers he was cutting off.

By the time he got there, the fight was already over; there were already four police cruisers on the scene, their strobing red and blue lights flooding the area. The cops themselves were busy collecting evidence from the scene, and from where Craig was standing, the shop seemed completely vacated.

But where was Tweek?

The sudden panicked squeak answered the question for him as he turned towards the scene off to the side of the café, away from the supposed evidence gathering. Tweek was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms covering his head, as the hooded figure before him spoke to the cowering blond in a firm tone that conveyed urgency.

Oh, he knew who that guy was… that was Mysterion, the so-called protector that South Park apparently needed.

"What did The Coon say after he smashed the front window? Did he give a reason why he targeted this place?" Mysterion asked, his voice tinged with annoyance as Tweek yelped and buried his face against his knees.

"Agh! I-I… I-I don't… I don't k-know! I d-didn't… GAH!" Tweek yelped as his left eye spasmed, and he looked at Mysterion with terror in his eyes. "I-I d-didn't h-hear what he said!"

"_Think_, man!" Mysterion urged as he grabbed his shoulders, shaking the blond lightly. "This is the one piece of evidence that we're missing! There's no reason why The Coon would attack this place!"

"J-Jesus!" Tweek stammered, his eyes wide with panic as he tried to back away from the caped crusader. "I-I d-d-don't k-know! I-I don't r-remember!"

"Hey, I think you've questioned him enough."

Both Mysterion and Tweek stared at Craig, who slowly walked towards the two; the blue-clad teen stopped a few feet away from the scene, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring hatefully at Mysterion, who straightened up to stare at the newcomer.

"Mind your own business, citizen," Mysterion said in a curt tone as he raised his eyebrow at Craig. "This is official business."

"Tweek's safety is _my_ business, _superhero_," Craig replied, his sarcasm punctuating his sentence. "He doesn't remember. Just leave him alone."

Mysterion straightened up, then, and he stared at Craig for a long moment before turning to Tweek.

"If you remember anything, anything at all, report to the police as soon as possible. Anything would help." Mysterion held out his hand to Tweek, intending to help him up, but the blond shook his head, seeming to prefer to stay where he sat. Mysterion shrugged at that, and after giving Craig and Tweek another glance, he went off on his way, taking to the rooftops as soon as it seemed convenient.

Once he was assured that Mysterion was gone, Craig turned to Tweek, kneeling next to his friend and looking at him close, concern reflected in his blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

Now that he was relatively safe, Tweek stared at Craig for a moment before he completely broke down, gripping onto his jacket and wailing into it; while Craig knew that he was trying to say something between his panicked sobs, it came out as nothing but gibberish.

"It's okay, Tweek… take it easy…" Craig gently stroked Tweek's hair, letting the blond cry himself out. Inside, though, he was seething. Those supers were getting out of hand… collateral damage, bullying?

He wasn't going to take it anymore.

* * *

><p>It'd taken him most of the night, and he was going to pay for it in the morning… but Craig was done with his impromptu project. If he was going to play the anti-hero, then he might as well look the part. The outfit was reminiscent of his trip to Peru back when he was 10 years old, and he felt that the half-mask he'd fashioned out of scraps he'd found in the garage and the attic would hide his identity well enough.<p>

Craig couldn't help but smirk as he looked at himself in the mirror, and his eyes crackled with electrical energy at the thought of finally putting those so-called heroes in their place.

If he was going to fight fire… he was going to do it with lightning.


	2. Chapter 2

**» Taco Bell construction site - 10:12 PM (one month later) «**

"That should do it," Toolshed said as he closed the panel to the electrical breakers; all the kitchen equipment was scheduled to be put in tomorrow, but something was causing the electrical to short out without warning, and that was trouble. While it might have been considered overkill to call in a superhero to figure out the problem, Toolshed didn't mind; after all, helping others, no matter how small the problem might be, was something he enjoyed doing.

At first glance, the teen didn't seem like much of a superhero; clad in a plain white shirt, jeans, and yellow safety goggles, with a heavy leather belt fitted with every single handheld power tool imaginable, Toolshed looked more like a teen with a penchant for do-it-yourself projects rather than a guardian of the city. However, his real power lay in how he used the equipment at his disposal; he had the curious ability to manipulate tools - as well as construction equipment - with a single thought, allowing him to use even the most innocuous of power screwdrivers as a deadly weapon. Not that he liked fighting, of course, but he was certainly no pushover.

"Thanks, Toolshed," the site's foreman said with a sigh of relief, looking in satisfaction at the lights illuminating the empty restaurant. "Sorry we had to call on ya for something so stupid."

"Don't worry about it," the raven-haired superhero replied with a grin. "I'm looking forward to having a bite to eat here when the place is open too, you know."

The foreman left quickly after saying his goodbyes, leaving Toolshed alone on site. The teen paused, however, as he looked around; he didn't want to say it to the foreman's face, but the wiring job had been shoddy. And if the inside of the restaurant was that bad, what was the outside like?

Knowing that half the town would be there for the grand opening, he wasn't going to take any chances; as he walked around the site, he did a few repairs of his own - a loose shingle here, a badly installed sign covering there… by the time he was done, it was almost midnight, but he could sleep easier knowing that the sign wouldn't fall on someone's head while they waited for their quesadilla.

As Toolshed was preparing to leave, a resounding crack echoed through the air, like a hundred breakers shutting off at once. The floodlamps that illuminated the construction site all shut off at once, plunging the area in a thick blanket of darkness.

"Fuck," Toolshed muttered under his breath as he looked around. Had he screwed up with the wiring somehow? It was going to take him forever to figure out what went wrong, and he didn't relish the idea of yet another sleepless night.

Reaching for the flashlight that hung on toolbelt, he paused as he felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end. He let his hand fall limp as he slowly looked around, his eyes straining as he tried to pierce the gloom surrounding him. He couldn't help but feel that something was going to happen - and _soon_ - and he tensed as he tried to figure out what was going on.

The answer came right then: a blinding flash of blue lightning suddenly crashed a few feet away from him - not close enough to strike him, but the force of the impact threw him back several feet. The hero recovered quickly from the blast, however, drawing both a drill and a nail gun from the holsters his belt as he skid to a stop near a steamroller, dust rising around his feet as he looked around for the source of the attack.

"That was quite impressive," a hollow voice intoned as a static-like sound crackled in the air, a few of the floodlamps turning back on and partially illuminating the site once more. "I didn't expect you to withstand that."

Standing on top of the roof was a man dressed in an ornate, blue poncho with yellow tassels, his face half-covered by a gold incan mask. More important was the derisive look he seemed to be giving Toolshed... as if he were nothing more than a pathetic insect.

"Who the hell are you?" Toolshed asked, his eyes narrowing as the tension in the air became even heavier.

"You may call me Lightning Bolt," the figure replied, his tone once more bereft of any emotion. "I've come to pass judgement upon you for the crimes you've committed against the citizens of South Park."

"Judgement…?" Toolshed repeated, his grip on his weapons tightening as he considered the stranger's words. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You claim to protect the citizens of South Park, but in the process, you harm the town." Lightning Bolt crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at Toolshed with a cold expression. "How can you claim to be a guardian of the city when you commit as many crimes as the criminals you attempt to apprehend?"

Toolshed widened his eyes. "Hey, no, wait a sec… when did I ever put South Park in any danger?"

"You sent a wrecking ball into the side of the old slaughterhouse."

"C'mon, the place was an eyesore anyways! And we saved that hostage, didn't we?"

"You flooded South Park High's basement when trying to stop a cult from worshipping gnome underwear."

"It's not like there's anything down there… no harm done, right?"

Lightning Bolt frowned. "The school was closed for a week."

"Yeah. Like I said, no harm done, right?" Toolshed laughed nervously despite himself, but his expression became serious again as he gestured at Lightning Bolt. "What does it matter? Damage can be repaired - it's not like we try and fuck things up!"

"And what if you tried? If you and the other so-called heroes actually intended to bring harm to South Park, the town would be finished." Lightning Bolt's one visible eye flared up, then, crackling with blue static energy tinged with yellow.

"I judge you unworthy of protecting South Park," he said without emotion as Toolshed saw a lightning bolt streak right at him, the last thing he saw before everything went white.

* * *

><p>To say that Kyle Broflovski was a morning person would be a complete lie, but it was just one of the many things he had to pretend to be good at doing in order to please his parents. He nodded in thanks as his mom put breakfast in front of him - eggs, turkey sausage, and toast - while his father turned on the small television they kept in the kitchen.<p>

Kyle's focus was entirely on his phone, however, as he stared at his text message app; it was unusual for Stan not to reply to his texts, especially at this time. Kyle was usually flooded with messages from his best friend, and for him to be so silent was a cause for concern. Had he overslept?

Before Kyle could excuse himself from the table so he could call him, however, the news came on the air, its theme blaring obnoxiously before cutting to the news anchor.

"_And now for our top story: Toolshed, one of South Park's beloved superheroes, is in critical condition after being found by construction workers early this morning. The young __superhero was found tied to the top of a telephone pole with grievous injuries. Now, some of the images you're about to see might be disturbing to younger children, and viewer discretion is advised."_

Kyle stared in horror as he saw the news report, the reporter's grave-sounding words blending together and fading into the background as his sole focus became the image of his battered friend.

"Oh, that's _terrible_," Sheila said as she put a few more turkey sausages on Kyle's plate. "I can't believe anyone would do that to… Kyle?! Where are you _going_, young man?!"

Kyle paid no attention to his mother's outburst as he all but lept out of his chair and dashed for the front door. It took him seconds to slip on his shoes and grab his backpack before he ran out the house, heading towards Hell's Pass Hospital where Stan had probably been brought.

_I can't believe this…_ Kyle's thoughts unconsciously echoed his mother's words as he ran, and while he wished he could get away with flying there, he couldn't do that while wearing his everyday clothes. _Who the hell would do this…?_

There were no answers for him... all he could do was hurry to be by his friend's side.


	3. Chapter 3

**» Hell's Pass Hospital, 7:54 am «**

The first thing Kyle noticed was that the hospital seemed to be much busier than usual; given there wasn't a typical South Park-style emergency going on where half the town needed medical attention, he could only assume that the activity was due to the facility's newest patient. Indeed, the front of the building was clogged up with news vans, police cruisers, and curious bystanders who wanted to get a glimpse of one of South Park's vigilantes, and possibly see them unmasked.

The teen was about to push his way through the throng in order to get into the facility when he saw an older man in a lab coat, his expression one of fatigue and annoyance, exit the hospital. The media immediately swarmed him, and the area turned into a sea of white as cameras flashed and microphones were shoved in the poor man's face.

Eventually, a pair of orderlies managed to push the overeager crowd away, enough that the older man was able to address the voracious media without getting crushed.

"You fuckers are a bunch of vultures, aren't you?" the man grumbled with a sigh, and he seemed to express an enormous amount of willpower as yet another microphone was shoved in his face.

"Doctor!" a journalist called out. "Is it true that Toolshed was admitted here last night?"

"Yes, yes it's true," the doctor acknowledged. "He's in critical condition, but we've managed to stabilise hi-..."

"And have you discovered his true identity? All of South Park is curi-... HEY!"

The journalist yelped as the microphone was forcibly snatched out of his hands, and the doctor cleared his throat before addressing the gathering with a no-nonsense tone in his voice.

"Alright, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once: yes, we admitted Toolshed early this morning with life-threatening injuries. No, we don't know who or what caused it. Police are assisting with the investigation. No, I'm not saying where he was found. And no, I don't know what his true identity is, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you idiots anyways! This press conference is OVER!"

With that, the doctor dropped the microphone on the ground, ignoring the desperate pleas from the press for further information, as he turned around and went back in the building.

Kyle watched the scene unfold from where he was standing, and it was only after the crowd dispersed that he let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding in the entire time; one of the group's biggest fears was the possibility of being unmasked if ever they required medical attention that was beyond their rudimentary first-aid skills, and it was the first time that any of them had needed to receive treatment at Hell's Pass. To hear the doctor refuse to give away Toolshed's identity was a huge weight off Kyle's shoulders, and it was comforting to know that acerbic attitude aside, they had an unexpected ally here.

With the entrance to the hospital somewhat clear now that the media had gone to report their findings, Kyle was free to investigate on his own.

But first…

As Kyle went around the building, ducking into a storage shed with a rusty lock that couldn't even stop his little brother, he questioned what exactly had gone through his mind when he chose his superhero persona. It's not that the Human Kite was a bad identity - he could shoot lasers out of his eyes, fly, and use the strings at his belt to ensnare enemies - but to say that the costume was awkward to manoeuvre into was the grossest of understatements.

Unfortunately for him, people were used to seeing him in the garb he was donning: a loose, kite-emblazoned blue-grey jumpsuit, with a cowl that concealed his distinctive red hair. The glasses that usually framed his face were gone - he'd replaced the lenses with fakes so he could wear all-day contacts in case of a quick change - revealing his piercing green eyes. A large, red and yellow diamond-shaped kite, which was strapped to his back, completed the outfit.

… It was that kite that usually caused him problems.

Pushing thoughts of redesigning his outfit out of his mind, Kyle - now the Human Kite - left the storage shed, electing to enter the hospital via conventional means… it wouldn't do to fly into Toolshed's room and run the risk of freaking people out.

After asking a nurse the location of Toolshed's room - and calming the poor man as he seemed to go into an apoplectic fit over seeing a superhero in the hospital lobby - Kite went up to the sixth floor room to find the doctor himself checking the unconscious hero's vitals.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?" Kite asked in a gruffer tone than his normal voice as he glanced past the physician, looking at his prone colleague with a slight wince; though his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, it was clear to him that he'd been on the losing side of whatever fight he'd been thrown into. He looked vulnerable without the yellow safety goggles that concealed his identity, and he wanted nothing more than to whisk him away for his protection.

The doctor turned at the sound of Kite's voice, and the teen felt as if the older man was scrutinising every single detail about him, right down to the way he was leaning against the door frame. After an awkward silent moment, the doctor grunted in satisfaction, turning back to his patient.

"Construction workers found him shortly after 5:00 AM at the new Taco Bell site at Fifth and Main," the doctor began, not even facing Kite as he spoke. "Bruises, cuts, lacerations… and he's got one hell of a concussion. If you ask me, it looks like a pack of dogs used him as a chew toy and then spat him back out."

"That's not all, though." The doctor turned to Kite, showing him an outline of the human body, with red circles drawn on the torso, right arm, and both legs. "Burn marks. Not due to fire, either… these are electrical burns."

"... Electrical burns?" Kite stared at the diagram in confusion, then back at Toolshed. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you fucking dipshit," the grey-haired man replied tartly as he shoved the chart back in the holder at the foot of the bed. "I've seen both, and those are electrical burns." He motioned to Toolshed's legs. "Lightning travels up - assuming he got into a fight, I'd say someone was using him as a lightning rod. Zapped him in the chest, too, so it wasn't just a bolt from the blue."

Kite let the insult slide as a million thoughts ran through his mind. It was easy to rule out the possibility that the injuries were due to an accident, given how he was found strung up a pole like a broken marionette. He could think of only one person who had electrical-based attacks in South Park, however, though such sudden violence would be a new kind of _modus operandi _for him.

As the doctor was about to leave, however, Kite snapped out of his musing; the teen's expression was hesitant as he cleared his throat, looking unsure as to how to phrase his next words.

"Er… I witnessed the press conference, and I saw how you refused to reveal his true identity. I… Just want to thank you for your discretion, doctor. You didn't have to, but it means a lot to us."

"Forget about it," the doctor grunted as he waved his hand dismissively. "You brats are doing the town a favour… it's the least I can do." He paused as he glared at Kite. "... Still brats, though."

"If you're sticking around, don't try poking him awake or I'll break that kite on your back and feed it to you rectally." The doctor's tone was so deadpan that Kite was fairly certain that he was serious about his threat, and all he could do was nod as the older man motioned to the emergency call button. "If he wakes up, call the nurse. If he gets worse, call the nurse."

With that, Kite was left to his own devices, alone in a too-white room with his injured best friend.

_Stan…_ he thought inwardly as he watched his friend's face. His expression was peaceful, the chemical concoction dripping through the IV in his arm doing its job to spare him the pain of his injuries. _Who did this to you…?_

* * *

><p>Though Kite had rushed out the door without anything but his costume and his tablet, he managed to busy himself by poring over police reports from the last 48 hours, all the while remaining by Toolshed's side. The first thing he noticed was that there were no calls pertaining to the fight, which was unsurprising if it was during the middle of the night, but there were no reports of any lightning strikes in the vicinity. Worse, the sky had been clear last night, and there were no reports from the National Weather Service in Denver of strange weather.<p>

As Kite pondered the lack of reports, he heard the figure next to him stir, a soft groan following the movement. The redhead immediately forgot all about his tablet as he tossed it aside, the device landing in his kite which he'd laid out on the floor, and he turned to face his injured colleague.

"Hey man," he said with a small smile as he watched Toolshed's eyes open. "How do you feel...?"

The prone superhero groaned in response, his expression dazed as he seemed to struggle with consciousness. "... did I suddenly turn into Mr. Hankey...?" he asked through the ventilator to which he was hooked up.

"No...?" Kite responded with a confused expression. "... why?"

"... because I feel like _shit_, dude..."

The exhausted but wry smile Toolshed gave him caught Kite off-guard, and he couldn't help but laugh at his friend's stupid-ass comment. Despite how bad things seemed, everything was going to be alright, somehow.

After Kyle summoned the nurses and they took whatever readings they needed to take, the two vigilantes were left alone, the door shut against those who might be curious about their conversations.

"So... what happened?" Kyle asked as he sipped at a cup of water that one of the nurses had brought him. "The police reports are sucking ass in the information department."

Toolshed paused, his expression clouded as he scrunched up his face. "I was at the new Taco Bell taking care of an electrical issue... and I was checking things over afterwards to see if there was anything else that the workers fucked up, right...? Except this guy came out of nowhere... said he was... 'judging' me or something..."

The raven-haired vigilante sighed as he put a hand to his temple. "... dude, I have no idea who this guy was, but he's **strong**... I've never seen powers like this before. Whoever he is, though... he's got some kind of beef against me..."

Kite sighed at Toolshed's words… none of this was making any sense whatsoever. Who would have anything against him? Out of all the vigilantes, he was the least aggressive, and he wouldn't have had any opportunity to make any enemies.

"Well… you rest," Kite said after a moment of thought. "I'll look into things more… I'll pull up a history of criminals with vendettas against you or the rest of us." His words didn't sound certain, however - there was something strange about the whole situation.

"... okay…" Exhaustion was clearly beginning to overtake the injured teen, and his eyes drooped as he struggled to stay awake. "... keep your eyes peeled, okay…? Who knows what that asshole's up to…"

"I'll be careful, don't worry." Kite flashed a reassuring grin that felt fake even to him, and he left the room after picking up his things. He quietly closed the door behind him…

… and came face-to-face with Mysterion, Tupperware, and The Coon, all of whom were looking at Kite with various degrees of concern; it ranged from genuine worry from Tupperware to complete and utter disdain from The Coon.

"How is he?" Tupperware asked, his characteristic hollow voice tinged with concern.

"He's awake," Kite replied. "He barely remembers anything from the attack, but the attacker did have lightning-based abilities."

"Lightning?" Tupperware blinked, and he looked at the other two supers in confusion.

"Meh, he probably pissed on an electric fence and zapped himself," The Coon muttered with a snicker, which elicited a glare from Mysterion.

"It's a shame he doesn't remember…" the hooded vigilante said, a tinge of regret in his gravelly voice. "Then again, it almost seems like a random attack."

"A random attack?" Kite frowned at Mysterion as he tried not to let his dismissive attitude get the better of him. "This is more like someone specifically targeted him. Toolshed said that the guy said he was 'passing judgment' on him… what if he goes after us, too?"

Mysterion raised an eyebrow. "A one-off attack does not constitute a trend, Human Kite."

"It's worth looking into. Besides, if the attacker had lightning powers, we should be looking into Professor Chaos' actions. He's the only one who has that kind of ability."

"Chaos?" The Coon laughed. "He can't even pee straight without someone to hold him steady."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like something he'd do…" Tupperware admitted. "He's never gone after us all that seriously."

"I agree," Mysterion concluded, and the tone in his voice left little room for argument… something that only served to infuriate Kite further.

"Fine. Just watch your backs… there's someone out there with a vendetta against one of our own, and I don't intend to let him get away with it."

With that, Kite turned on his heel and left, his fists clenching and unclenching as he made his way out of the hospital. Mysterion was always quick to dismiss any theory he had, and it was pissing him off. Who died and put him in charge, anyways?

Lacking any other leads, Kite made his way back to the storage shed where he'd dropped off his civilian clothes. Patrolling would have to wait - he had research to do.


	4. Chapter 4

_And now, for our top story: Channel 9 news has learned that Toolshed has been released from hospital. It is still unknown what caused the superhero's extensive injuries, but investigation is ongoing. Reporting live from the hospital is a midget in a bikini-_

*click*

**» Downtown South Park - 12:53 AM (one week later) «**

Although Toolshed was released from the hospital several days after the attack, and a convenient story had been spun by the hospital administration to explain Stan's disappearance from school, the attack remained fresh in the mind of almost every vigilante that protected South Park. Despite Mysterion's gruff reassurances that it seemed to be an isolated incident, everyone remained on their guard, the threat of a random, unprovoked attack lingering in the back of their minds.

Everyone… except for The Coon, that is.

He had to give himself credit - he'd managed to hold his tongue while that loser Kite was trying to convince Mysterion that Toolshed had been targeted. He wanted nothing more than to mock both him and the lame excuse for a superhero with a power tool fetish, but he was only there to check to see if he'd actually survived getting his ass handed to him.

He would have wanted his stuff if he hadn't.

No, now was his chance to prove that he was _really _South Park's protector. He was the original, after all - Mysterion was just some idiot who decided to copy The Coon's recognisable brand, and ever since then, he'd been pushed aside, everyone and their dog tripping over themselves to play the hero.

Well, _he'd_ show them.

The heavyset superhero surveyed his city from the rooftop of a condemned apartment building, the block's inhabitants having long ago left for safer accommodations. Though he hardly seemed the type to be able to protect a city, much less climb the side of a six storey building, The Coon was more than capable of holding his own… not that many had seen that side of him.

The portly teen's costume did a somewhat good job of disguising him: clad in a red cape and dressed in a brown top and pants, with a white shirt underneath emblazoned with his logo, his face was concealed with a raccoon mask that, in his opinion, made him seem like a force to be reckoned with. He was equipped with razor-sharp claws, and the yellow belt wrapped around his substantial girth was well-equipped with all manner of tools to help him fight crime.

It was the perfect outfit… one that was worthy of South Park's _true_ protector.

Footsteps alerted him to the presence of someone else on the quiet rooftop… but was it friend or foe? As he turned, his keen eyes spied the presence of someone he'd never seen before - a tall person clad in a dark blue poncho, his face half-obscured by a golden mask.

"So," The Coon asked in a forced, rasping voice as he looked at the newcomer with a derisive sneer. "I take it that _yew_ are the guy called Lightning Bolt?" The superhero couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at the mantled newcomer. "Seriously, yew have to work on your name if yew want people to actually fear yew." His voice dipped down to a dramatic whisper before continuing. "Like, dude, that name's _really_ lame."

"I don't particularly care what you think, Coon," Lightning Bolt replied, his even voice echoing from behind the mask. "Nor do I think the citizens of South Park care, either - you didn't need to spray-paint your thoughts concerning me on the side of the community centre in big red letters, along with a picture of a phallus with my name on it."

"But it got your attention, didn't it?" The Coon laughed before continuing. "Hah! Yew fell for my trap like a fucking idiot!"

"Your _trap_," Lightning Bolt repeated - if it was at all possible, he sounded even more deadpan than he did before. "This doesn't look like much of a trap."

"Of course it's a fucking trap! Sheesh, get with the fucking program, dildo." The Coon unsheathed his claws in a dramatic, exaggerated gesture as he dropped into a fighting stance. "I am The Coon, South Park's _original_ superhero, and I'm going to kick your fucking ass!"

"Really," Lightning Bolt replied, his one visible eye staring at the bandit-faced thug. "Seeing as you seemed like a complete waste of my time, I was going to leave you be... but since you are so eager to be judged, I suppose I'll have to acquiesce to your demand."

Lightning Bolt's poncho flared up as a circle of crackling azure energy surrounded him, and it gathered in his outstretched hand before he flung it right at the caped superhero, the force of the impact knocking him back with a surprised yelp as he landed in a heap.

"That wasn't even a challenge," Lightning Bolt muttered as he turned around, walking back towards the fire escape through which he'd climbed. Had the childling called him here simply to be a waste of his time..?

As he opened the rusted door, Lightning Bolt suddenly felt a searing pain as he felt metal tear through his back before he was slammed face-first into the door. He hissed under his breath as he struggled to shake off the weight off his back, pushing himself off the door and throwing his aggressor aside, his hateful glare focused on a smug-looking Coon, who was looking at his bloodied claws with a smirk.

"Well, whaddya know… I guess 'gods' bleed red, huh?"

"An astute observation." While Lightning Bolt didn't want to admit it, he'd clearly underestimated his opponent - how did he manage to withstand his attack? That same attack made easy work of Toolshed, but judging from how he was carrying himself, The Coon hardly seemed affected. Moreover, he seemed quite capable of going on the offensive, which he hadn't expected…

Had his weakness all been an act?

"Not so tough now, huh?!" The Coon laughed as he saw Lightning Bolt's hesitation, and he took the opportunity to go all out; pulling a handful of tubes from his utility belt, he flung them at the so-called god as he rushed in; Lightning Bolt winced as the flash caps exploded in his face, and all he could do was block the superhero's claws as he attacked wildly, throwing a concentrated lightning blast as soon as the glare subsided. The Coon grunted as he was thrown back by the energy, but he seemed to shake it off as if it'd been a simple static shock, and he rushed in again with unnatural speed, screeching as he aimed his claws right at his face, which were barely stopped by his mask.

Lightning Bolt broke away, then, dashing across the rooftop as his mind raced; he'd never fought toe-to-toe with one of the vigilantes before, and it was thanks to the element of surprise that he'd managed to defeat Toolshed. The lack of fighting experience was clearly proving to be his weak point… How was he supposed to take out The Coon in light of that?

He could always run, but doing so would prove to the superheroes that one of their weakest members could defeat him…

No… he wasn't going to allow it!

"Ey! Get back here so I can kick your ass!" The Coon chased after Lightning Bolt, claws extended; once more he pulled several tubes from his belt, lobbing them at the supervillain as he escaped. Lightning Bolt evaded them easily enough as he pointed behind him, conjuring mines of electrical energy directly in his path in the hopes of slowing him down. The Coon yelped as he ran into the first one, but it hardly stopped him; though they'd been placed in a way that made it difficult for anyone to evade them, Lightning Bolt was surprised to see the vigilante dodge them with superhuman agility that seemed uncharacteristic of his girth.

So that was it! He seemed, on the surface, an inoffensive weakling, but he had superhuman resilience and agility… just like the raccoon persona he'd taken on.

Lightning Bolt glanced at the building across from the one they were fighting on, a plan slowly forming in his mind as he conjured a protective shield around him; as The Coon caught up to him, he winced as he felt the shield buckle as soon as his claws connected, a fleeting expression of pain crossing the vigilante's face as electricity streamed through his hands. With a cry of rage, The Coon broke through the shield, grappling the god-like supervillain and spinning him around before throwing him off the edge of the roof with a triumphant cry.

"Hah! Take that, yew motherfucker!" The Coon called out from the edge of the roof as Lightning Bolt fell straight down. The godling gathered every ounce of energy he had, channelling it into the soles of his feet as he forced electrical energy to propel him upwards; the result wasn't entirely graceful as he struggled to hover, but it was enough to stop his fall.

The Coon laughed at Lightning Bolt's flailing, but it left him unprepared for what happened next - after a sharp, downward gesture on Lightning Bolt's part, a streak of concentrated lightning came crashing down right at the edge of the rooftop. The attack completely missed the vigilante, but as soon as the edge of the rooftop began to crumble down into the street below, it became clear that he wasn't the intended target.

"Are yew seriously?!" The Coon cried out as he became caught in the avalanche of falling debris, and the struggled to cling onto the crumbling edifice. "Do yew really think that's gonna stop me?! I'm just gonna kick your ass as soon as I get back up here!"

"No… that clearly will not stop you…" Lightning Bolt's breathing was laboured as he held up his hand again, and another bolt came crashing down on the edge of the adjoining building; as the rooftop began to crumble, he pointed a finger right at the superhero, the electrical charge directed at him just enough to make him lose his tenuous grip on the edge of the rooftop.

"... but this will."

Lightning Bolt watched as The Coon went down with the rooftop, his desperate cries covered up by the sounds of falling debris. While it was clear he could withstand the fall, the side of the second building came crashing down into the alley into which he fell, burying the vigilante under the brick and mortar.

As the rumbling subsided, Lightning Bolt suddenly lurched in midair, and he barely managed to land on top of the debris that entombed The Coon before his power gave out entirely. His breathing was shallow as he stared at the mountain of rubble, his expression unreadable as he climbed down the side, his movements uncoordinated as he struggled to stay upright.

He'd managed to defeat him, yes… but he felt disgust welling up in the pit of his stomach as he looked at all of the damage he'd caused. One of the criticisms he'd had against the so-called superheroes was the excessive amount of destruction they caused to the town…

… yet here he was, standing next to the remains of two buildings to which he'd just caused substantial damage.

The sounds of approaching sirens told him that the police were near, which meant that the vigilantes were even closer. He would have to reflect on what he'd done elsewhere…

… and figure out how to become stronger so that this would never happen again.


End file.
